Sometimes people say her name to me. Not often. But now and then. I know that many babyloss mamas like to have their babies' names mentioned. It is disturbing when no one will speak a dead child's name aloud. I understand why.
But when someone says her name, this is what I think: "Angel who?" Because I have trouble connecting this name, this baby they are imagining, this story of her that I have presented to the world... I have trouble connecting all that to the little being who lived and kicked inside of me and who I loved so much and whose face broke my heart. What are my carefully chosen words, what is their idea about it, compared to the absolute tiny preciousness of her? Nothing. Not even close.
Sometimes it is worse. Sometimes I think: "Don't you dare say her name to me, you don't know what the fuck you are talking about!" They say her name like they knew her. Like they are part of her story. Like she is something to them. It makes me so mad.
I think it is because she was so tiny, and in the end I have so little of her. You know how some cultures believe that a click of the camera steals a piece of the soul? Every time someone says her name to me, I feel it like a yank on a string attached to my heart - why are they trying to pull out a piece of her? I don't want to share. I don't want to expose her to the light.
In the hospital, I didn't unwrap her. The nurse kept asking me if I wanted to, and I just couldn't. I'd already had to push her out into that cold room--it seemed cruel to take her out of her cozy clothes and blanket. She was gone, but hadn't she been through enough? I just held her swaddled for hours. I regret it a little now - never even seeing her feet and hands. But it was the last thing I could do to take care of her.
It had been a troubling pregnancy from the very beginning. I fought and prayed every day to figure out the right things to do, to try to solve the problems, to believe we were going to make it. In the end, I couldn't protect her. But that was my job--I'm her mommy.
All this anger at those who mean well must be some kind of misdirected Mama Bear energy. I think some part of me is still cradling her at the hospital, and I just everyone want to go away and leave my child alone.
Both my therapist and Brian tell me that when people say her name to me, they are trying to help me, connect with me. It's not really about her, the her I know. I don't know why I can't get that. It just makes me want to bare my teeth and stand snarling between the world and my girl.
I'm told that the women who "recover" the best from babyloss are those who find ways to honor their child openly, to incorporate them into their daily life or into big yearly events. They are the ones who create something from their grief, who find a way to make it mean something. I can see that this is true.
But it's possible that I don't want any good to come from her death. I don't want anyone to be changed or motivated by her story. I don't want to burden her with "touching lives." She's not a higher purpose. She's not a cautionary tale. She's not here to raise awareness. She's not motivation for a fundraiser. She's not a good learning experience, for me or for anyone else. She's just my baby girl. Leave us be.
It's not that I don't want my pain acknowledged. Truly, you cannot win with me, because if no one ever said her name and if everyone just went on like nothing had happened, I would be just as angry. So please forgive me--I am a grief-stricken crazy lady. I just don't want people to take her story and make it their own. I have so little of her, please don't try to break a piece off for yourself.
Instead just this. Walk past my home in reverence. See us together on the front stoop. I am draped in black, my hair falling around my face. She is in my arms, clutched to my chest, a tiny bundle in a lavender quilt. If you look closely you may see the white pompom of her hat. I am speaking quietly to her, but we know you are there at the end of the walk. There is no need to stop or say hello. We feel your presence, your prayers, and we are grateful. Make the sign of the cross, throw salt over your shoulder, go in peace.
* * * * * * * *
Notes: Grief for me is dark, but not always this dark. Please know that I am truly grateful for the love and support my family has received over the past 7 months. You can say her name, I promise I won't bare my teeth.
These feelings, these words, have been weighing on me for a few weeks. I needed to get them out and I appreciate your listening. I am also curious--has anyone else gone through a phase like this? It seems much more common for families to want their babies spoken of, honored, discussed, etc. So I feel kind of guilty, and like a bit of a loon. Would Angel Mae have wanted this fierce protection in life? Does she want it in death? I don't know.
Lastly, I don't at all mean to knock anyone who raises money, raises awareness, makes art, or otherwise touches lives in ways you might not have, had things gone differently. I admire what you do. That's just not where I am right now.
Sunday, October 4
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8 comments:
You know, Jenni, ou don'ty have to apologize for the way you need to grieve. Everyone is different. I have felt protective in some of the same ways with people, but not with all people. My sister saying her name is absolutely right, but some jackass on FB is offensive and weird. It is so selective, and I feel like it is absolutely true that there really is nothing that anyone can do to make me happy, because I just want my daughter back. Save that, the gestures are empty. I have felt the same way--that I don't want my daughter's life and death to have some larger life lesson, or meaning, because I would trade any life lesson for her back. Still, I crave understanding and peace. In nine months, I just have found a thousand distractions, and no singular meaning. Still, just plodding forward. With love.
Jenni, in my book, what you want is the most important thing. You are Angel's mama, and you know her best. Protecting yourself and protecting her make perfect sense to me. xo
Jenni, I just want to echo everything that Angie and Paige have said. Ultimately this place is for you, and whatever you need to express.
In answer to your question, I have felt and continue to feel something very similar to what you're describing here. I particularly resent the grief of extended family members, I sometimes feel like they are trying to appropriate my love for Iris and I feel very mama bear about that. A lot of English people colloquially refer to members of their family in proprietary terms as in 'I'm going t'shops with our Jess' so I'm exposed to a lot of 'our little Iris'. I find myself wanting to say 'she's not your Iris, she's MINE'.
There was a post on Glow recently about dead babies in films and I left a bit of a spikey comment on there about how much I dislike the idea of my baby as a plot device or shorthand for character development. I think I'm aligned with your thoughts here in so many ways. You know, I've done some fund-raising and I try to incorporate Iris stuff into my day-to-day life, but I really do get what you're saying.
Basically, I have a lot of opinions on this stuff, and I should bugger off your blog and go and write something for my own!
Lots of love to you xxx
I don't know Jenni. I think I might feel something like this myself about both my girls. For a long time, I didn't want to mention their names in comments. I didn't want anyone to see any of G's photographs or J's from when she was so small. I umm and ahhed for hours about the images of J that are on my blog. But in real life I still don't. I don't show anyone images of G or her hats or her ashes. Or images of J when she was very small. They are mine. These pictures of my daughters taken at a time when they should have still been invisible to the outside world, they should have been inside me.
When you say, perhaps it because she was so tiny? I wonder about that too, if their fragility just makes me want to protect them from prying eyes, from people who aren't actually anything to do with them.
Not people here in blog land but those who want to 'break off a piece for themselves', sadly people are fascinated by the story which I feel in two minds about. I will never forget being extremely disconcerted in a shop where the lady at the checkout started telling me my own story, she knew how heavy the girls were, when they were born, how old G was when she died. All the details. Eventually I had to stop her and tell that it was me she was talking about, my children. It made me feel so angry. That my daughters had been made into gossip, into small talk. They are my heart. I wanted to keep them safe but I couldn't it. To have them picked over by others just seemed too much.
As Paige and Angie have said above, it is what you want that is important. She is your daughter. You know her better than anyone else ever can. For what it is worth, I am also not a fan of the idea that our children have to be anything other than what they were and are. Our children. Not part of a plan or an inspiration or a caution.
Jenni, I'm sure I say the wrong thing sometimes, I know that I can be clumsy. But I hope you know that I am standing at the end of the walk. That I see you and Angel Mae at the other end. That when I comment here that is what I think (or hope) I am trying to do. Making my own sign of the cross and throwing salt across the wires and the miles.
And I should take some advice from after iris and go write on my own blog instead of filling up yours with my stupid long comments! Much love xo
Jenni I have been where you are, and often I think I'm still there. Like Angie says, it depends on who it is saying her name. I get so protective and when some say it, I think back the fuck off, you don't know her, don't you dare speak her name - she's mine. I also don't want to make meaning and make the world a better place because she's gone. I just want her back. All I ever wanted out of my boring and normal pregnancy was a very boring and normal little baby so we could go on to be a boring and normal family like everyone else gets to. I hate how this new path I'm on is anything but boring and normal. I hate that I'm now the cautionary tale. I never asked for this.
I just want her back.
xo
lovely ladies,
thank you for this feedback. it helps so much to know that you have felt this way too - in your own unique circumstances. makes me feel a little less nuts.
i do try not to apologize for my writing, but some recent blogland events have made me extra sensitive to "tone". i just don't want to be misunderstood.
catherine - i cannot believe that happened to you in the grocery store. i am so sorry. if it were me i would have wanted to set the building on fire.
love to you all. xo
I appreciate your openness to sharing. We all grieve the way we grieve and need support (crazy as we may seem to those around us). Hurting for you/with you. (((Hugs)))
(the other Karen)
I hear you. I can see and sense your mama bear energy. It burns like a fire -and I am so very grateful you have that fire right now. It is what you need. I say her name with love & caution, knowing I tread on shaky ground.
I never want to dance around the issue with you -for she was not just "the baby," and she was your Angel Mae.
For me, it became a relief to have Jordan's name said allowed - hardly any one says Lily to me, that loss was so brief and private - but their names will make me cry every single time, even these many years later, because I never got to call them to dinner, because I never got to put them in time out, because I never sang them in a silly song, or fill out a ballet registration for them. Their names represent that public part of themselves that never was. And yet, I am grateful to hear their names just now and again, to know they are missed by not just me, to know they are remembered, even though it is not enough.
keep writing, jenni.
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